Evil Wears a Red Sox Cap
by BillyDigital aka P.C. Kiefer
Summary: The ninja turtles meet a new enemy, and a new friend, in the sewers of New York City. Splinter makes a difficult choice that will forever change the family.


"Evil Wears a Red Sox Cap"

[Special Extended Edition]

By BillyDigital

Part I

The ninja sat, lotus-style, in the darkened room. Although his eyes were shut, and there was no light, he was fully aware of all that transpired. A droplet of water splashed fifty feet away. He heard it. A small rodent scraped the stone floor of an adjacent room. He felt it. A new scent threaded its way from the entrance of the compound. He smelled it and knew it at once. Two of his brothers had come home.

A fraction of a second later, he detected a scent that was more familiar still: that of blood.

The ninja leapt to his feet, eyes open. Instinctively, his hand moved to the hilt of his _katana_. He strode out of the room to see what must be done.

"What's going on?" asked Leonardo as he stepped through the section of sewer pipe that served as his living room door. His brothers Raphael and Michelangelo were sprawled on the couch, both of them bruised and bleeding from several places. The fourth brother, Donatello, was disinfecting them as fast as he could, while ignoring the loud and profane protestations of his brothers, and wrapping gauze and bandages around the gorier bits. Master Splinter, the aged sensei, was entering the room from the kitchen, carrying packs of ice to be placed on swollen heads.

"Leo, there you are, nice of you to join us," Raphael deadpanned. "We was just telling Donnie about our latest victory, right, Mike?"

"Yeah, well, it was a moral victory, anyway. And we, um, learned a good lesson or something? Because…knowing is half the battle, dude." Michelangelo winced at the hydrogen peroxide. _"Fudge, _man!"

"So you guys are okay?" Leonardo relaxed slightly; his heartbeat began to approach a normal rate.

"Yeah, we're fine. You gotta hear this one, though. Alright, Donnie, enough already!" Raphael swatted his brother's hand away. "So me and Mike was toolin around in the Bronx, right? Near the Stadium, but we're underground. You know, just doin nuttin. We had the game on the radio. And all of a sudden, out of nowhere, the whole place gets _dark,_ right? Not like at night, though, but from _smoke._ All of a sudden the whole sewer is filled with black smoke, and me and Mike are chokin, we're like, hey, get us outta here. And then, the next thing you know, _POW!"_

"Right in the kisser!" Michelangelo interjected.

"Yeah, like he said," continued Raphael. "I got socked in the damn jaw."

_"Ah-hem!"_ Splinter cleared his throat loudly. Raphael grimaced. "Sorry, sensei."

Michelangelo jumped in again. "So Raph goes down, you know, and I come in to save the day. Like, I'm gonna _rock_ this dude. But he is _fast,_ Leo. You never seen anything like this guy. I mean, he's jukin left, he's fakin right, he's stickin and movin, he's ropin-a-dope, he's floatin like a gol-durn butterfly and stingin like a bee, man!"

"Yeah, so basically we both got our a- uh, our tails kicked." Raphael pressed the icepack to his swollen face. "And also, the Yanks lost." At this Donatello swore, and promptly received a rap on the skull from Splinter's cane.

Leonardo was confused. "Wait a minute. Did you see this guy at all?"

Michelangelo shook his head. "Not really. He was like a shadow, dude. Like a furious…_shadow._"

Leonardo had heard enough. "Alright. Don, let's plan on making a trip to the Bronx tomorrow to see what's going on at the Stadium. Guys, if you're up to it, we'd love the help."

"Oh, we'll be there," said Raphael. Michelangelo regarded him quizzically. "We will?"

"Sure, why not. Oh, Leo, one more thing," Raphael went on. "This guy…he was wearing…"

Leonardo waited. "Yeah?"

"Well…it looked like a collar…made of _iron._"

Part II

"Pizza time!"

Michelangelo bounded to the front door, seemingly recovered from the previous day's injuries. Unlocking the rusted metal latch, he slowly eased the door open just the slightest crack, and without allowing any part of his turtle-green body to be seen, proffered a crisp hundred dollar bill to the delivery-man on the other side. "Just leave em on the doorstep, dude. Keep the change."

"Would you mind terribly, sir, if I stepped inside for a spot of tea? It's quite damp out here, you know."

Michelangelo furrowed his brow. This was an unexpected development. "Um…well, sensei drinks tea, but it's green…"

He did not have time for another thought before he found that the door had opened and shut, and standing before him was by far the strangest pizza-man Michelangelo had ever laid his eyes upon. Underneath a red _Tony's Pizza_ baseball cap were two enormous outgrowths of eyebrow, matched in the brilliance of their snowy whiteness only by the cascading mustache and beard that flowed from the wrinkled visage. In one hand, the old stranger easily held the four large pizzas the turtles had ordered; in fact, he let them rest lightly on his fingertips, apparently without effort. In the other hand, he held a six-foot staff.

A curious smile played across the stranger's expression. Mischief danced in his eyes. After a moment, he spoke again. "My name is Gandalf. How do you do?"

It took a good amount of time for the wizard to convince the ninja turtles that he was real. They pointed out that he had been a character in books and movies. He countered with the same point about them. They supposed that he must be an impostor. He pulled a rabbit out of his baseball cap and turned it into a Siberian tiger, which then dissolved in a puff of smoke. They asked him what he was doing in New York City. He replied that he'd come to see Broadway.

"That's merely my little joke, of course," Gandalf chuckled, stroking his beard. "No, no, I'm here on an errand that's far more serious, far more serious, yes." And when the turtles were at last ready to listen to what he seemed so intent on communicating, they made him stop and start and repeat and circle back and retrace himself again and again, so complicated was the situation. They peppered him with questions left and right, over and over, about this one and that one and this one and the other, until at long last day had turned to night and then night to day again, and four empty pizza boxes lay strewn across the living room floor. And in their defense, it was very complicated. Only Splinter had not asked a question. Indeed, he had not spoken a word, but remained sitting still in the corner, occasionally taking a sip of green tea. However, Leonardo noticed that at certain moments, Splinter and Gandalf seemed to share a look of deep and hidden meaning, when each would meet the other's gaze and it would appear that some secret thought had passed between them.

Finally Donatello sat up and looked at the wizard. "Okay, I think I got it. Tell me if I'm right."

Gandalf nodded as he puffed his pipe. "Go ahead, lad."

Donatello paused, took a breath, and began. "Alright. So at the very beginning of time, God, or Iluvatar, created these super-powerful…_archangels,_ basically. Elemental forces. And these forces all helped Iluvatar create music…that brought the world into being?"

The wizard nodded again, wordlessly.

Donatello went on: "Except there was one of these elemental beings, these Holy Ones, who didn't like the music that his brothers and sisters were making. He rebelled against Iluvatar, and tried to ruin the creation of the world. His name was Melkor." Leonardo believed he saw the wizard's face turn slightly pale at the mention of this name.

"When Elves and Men were born, Melkor tried to dominate and corrupt them. He became a Dark Lord and the Elves named him _Morgoth,_ Enemy of the World. Is that right so far, uh, Mr. Gandalf?"

An exhalation of smoke was taken to be an affirmative reply, and Donatello kept on. "So eventually, after, like, thousands and thousands of years, Morgoth had pretty much terrorized the civilizations of the Earth. Which is…Middle-earth. Which is…this Earth. Here. Except, not quite here. More like somewhere over there. Or under the ocean now, or something."

"Best not to get hung up on the minor details," said the wizard. "Carry on, then."

"Um, right." Donatello considered this for a moment, then forged ahead. "So eventually the Holy Ones, the archangels, they find out what Morgoth is doing to all the Elves and Dwarves and Men and how he's got, like demon armies of orcs and these dragons and giant _Balrogs_ that breathe fire, and he's completely wiping out civilizations across the world, so the Holy Ones bring an army to the part of the world where Morgoth lives, like a divine army of God, and they basically wipe the floor with _him_, and they take his Iron Crown and make it into a collar, and then they wrap it around his neck, and kick him off the planet." At this point Donatello appeared to be unsure. "Right?"

Gandalf seemed to feel that the studious turtle had performed well enough, so he relieved Donatello of his burden. "More or less, lad, more or less. Morgoth was exiled into the Void, and a guard was set on the Walls of the World, to watch against his return. But it is said-" here he stopped short, and seemed to rethink his words. "Pardon me, lad. What I mean to say is this: although he is greatly weakened, almost inconceivably so compared to his former strength, Morgoth has returned to the world, and the danger is very real."

At this point Raphael spoke up, his mouth partly occupied by a pizza crust. "Okay, so here's the sixty-four thousand dollar question." He chewed and swallowed. "What's he doing under Yankee Stadium?"

"Well," said Gandalf, "you must keep in mind that Morgoth is the greatest evil the Universe has ever known. His heart is twisted with malice, hatred, and lies. He thinks of nothing except how he might corrupt, oppose, and destroy that which is good and right and true. As such, he has become quite an enthusiastic Boston Red Sox fan, and has taken it into his foul mind to put a curse on Yankee Stadium."

The turtles gasped, except they couldn't even really breathe; the air seemed to die in their throats. The only sound was the curiously delicate smashing of porcelain, which came from Splinter's corner. His four pupils turned in amazement to see the shattered teacup on the stone floor by their master's feet. The sensei's chest rose and fell as he drew great breaths, nostrils flaring. _"It's go time!"_

Part III

They were a company of six when they departed from the turtles' underground home toward Yankee Stadium. Raphael went ahead of the others as a scout, while the main party was led by Splinter and Gandalf, followed by Donatello, Michelangelo, and Leonardo. They kept a quick pace; there was little talking, as each warrior focused on the battle awaiting him.

Splinter knew the underground system like the back of his paw, and he directed the white wizard expertly and efficiently. Gandalf lit the way with his staff, which spilled light at his command. He had somehow acquired a hooded cloak, and wore this rather than his pizza delivery attire. Also, there was now a sword attached to his waist. Altogether, he cut a much more imposing figure.

As they drew closer to the Bronx, they began to notice a darkening of the air. Eventually it became so pronounced that even the wizard's staff could not fully dispel the murk, which choked their throats and noses as well. Soon the turtles and their master were wearing strips of cloth over their faces in order to breathe more easily, but Gandalf did not appear to be hindered.

Then, after some time had passed, they heard a sound of running and shouting. It was Raphael.

He appeared moments later, winded and struggling to catch his breath. He dropped to his knees, swaying. "It's that thing…from the movie…the _Balrog!_"

"Oh, bollocks." Gandalf sighed. "I might have expected as much." He placed his hand on Raphael's shell, and the exhaustion seemed to depart from the turtle's body. Slowly Raphael got to his feet. His energy had been restored.

Gandalf then turned to Splinter and gave a nod, and the rat signaled to his disciples. The entire company sprang into action, weapons drawn and thirsty for death.

Their foe announced its presence with searing flame and a thunderous roar. The _Balrog_ was a massive, raging essence of putrid smoke and infernal fire, a shameful spawn of hell that came bellowing from the deepest caverns of the world. It had been drawn hither by the call of its hateful father, the dread Morgoth, and now it cracked its whip and prepared to deal out doom to the six heroes.

And so the battle was joined. Gandalf struck the first blow, with a great blast of energy from his enchanted staff. The _Balrog _was knocked to its right, staggering. Michelangelo was underneath, and with his whirling _nunchaku_ he ensnared the tip of the demon's bullwhip. With a mighty effort, the turtle wrested the weapon from the _Balrog_'s grip, and swung it back and around the creature's legs. However, the demon proved to be more nimble than it first appeared, leaping into the air to avoid the flaming lashes.

The fire-demon came down upon the floor of the old sewer tunnel with a deafening crash. Its terrible weight shook the very foundation under the heroes' feet; they were tossed sprawling to the ground as though at the epicenter of an earthquake, vision blurred from the heat and ears ringing from the noise of the _Balrog's _impact. And now they could hear another sound as well; it was the slow rumble of bricks giving way, the beginning of a concrete avalanche as parts of the tunnel floor collapsed. A chasm opened up, and seemed to grow longer and exponentially wider. The maw stretched and ripped its way from the fiend toward the prone heroes, who were just getting to their feet. One of them, though, could not seem to move fast enough…

Splinter had been thrown higher than the rest by the _Balrog's _calamitous impact on the floor, and despite his considerable dexterity he had landed at an awkward angle, with his bad leg folded the wrong way underneath him. Cursing in Japanese, the rat struggled to right himself and regain his footing, but as he did so the yawning chasm was moving toward him at an alarming rate. Splinter scrambled backward, desperate for something solid to grip or brace himself against, but the very floor was buckling underneath him now, and he could get no purchase on any part of the environment. And then, just like that, he was gone.

"_Noooo!!" _Leonardo lunged forward, meaning to hurl himself into the abyss after his master, but Donatello threw himself at his crazed brother and tackled him to the floor. "Leo! Wait!"

A moment later the wizard had flashed by them in a streak of white light, and disappeared into the rift after Splinter. Donatello rolled off his brother, panting. "See…if anyone can help him…it's Gandalf. Splinter would want us to defend New York!"

As if on cue, to drive Donatello's point home, the _Balrog _let out a vicious scream of fury. The turtles took it as an invitation to avenge their master. They slipped into _berserker _mode now, conscious of nothing but the song of violence pounding through their veins. And in the trance of battle they let their arms, legs, hands, feet and weapons think and move and react. An army of four soldiers possessed, they fell upon the _Balrog_ as a whirling hurricane of fists and steel, oblivious now to the blackening heat that burned at the creature's core. And by the sheer force of their will, the ninjas drove their enemy back to the far end of the great fissure, and then finally over the edge; the demon fell into the pit with a diabolical cry that faded away as its flame grew smaller, and smaller, and finally disappeared from view.

Part IV

There is no rest for the weary, as they say. The turtles were wracked with grief and pain, but each of them knew that before they could attempt to follow their master down the abyss, they must complete the mission before them. Donatello had been correct; Splinter would have enjoined them to think first and foremost about protecting the citizens of New York from the danger that lurked in their midst. There was nothing else that could be done; the turtles had to find Morgoth, and either destroy him, drive him away, or die in the attempt.

They walked without speaking, dazed, but conscious of the need to keep a good pace. Each one had suffered serious wounds and burns in the fight against the _Balrog,_ but they were seasoned warriors and these did not prevent them from pushing their bodies further still. They passed into the Bronx sewer system, blind now from the omnipresent black smoke that Morgoth spewed forth from his lair, and using only the senses of hearing and touch they navigated their way toward Yankee Stadium. In their eyes, noses, and throats there was nothing but acrid smoke.

As the ninjas drew closer to the site of the Stadium, however, they came upon an unexpected obstacle. Judging by what they could feel, the turtles deduced that they were at the base of a massive wall, seemingly constructed of huge, broken hunks of stone, any one of which may have weighed as much as a city bus. The wall seemed to stretch as far to the left and to the right as they were able to move. Michelangelo climbed the jagged façade up to the ceiling of the tunnel, and reported that there was no passage to be found there either.

The brothers were not strangers to this area of the underground. In fact, Raphael and Michelangelo had passed through it a mere two days before, when they first encountered the ancient villain, and the wall had not been there. So the turtles were left to contemplate the raw strength and power that would have been required to assemble such a mighty edifice in only two days' time. Soon they would need to match that power, if they hoped to leave this place alive.

The decision was made to go "topside," on street level with the humans, in the interest of reaching the hidden devil before he moved against the city. They doubled back to a conveniently placed manhole on East 158th Street and quickly scrambled out, taking care that no one witnessed their emergence. Once on the street, the turtles made their way toward River Avenue, and after turning right they walked past the site of the old Stadium toward the brand new cathedral that would play host that day to the visiting Red Sox.

Throngs of fans filled the sidewalks and spilled onto the avenue, and the turtles were forced to employ a risky (but usually effective) ruse in order to avoid panicking the masses. Waving, smiling, and laughing fake Hollywood laughs, they took on the role of mascots, children's performers, as if they had stepped out of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Soon, delighted youngsters were flocking to the foursome, _oohhing _and _aahhing _at their marvelously "real"-looking injuries, holding out pens and markers and slips of paper to be autographed. Camera phones were flipped open and pictures were snapped. Boisterous fans wanted high fives. Someone began singing the television theme song. And all the while, the turtles were moving as quickly as they could toward the Stadium gates.

Upon reaching the turnstiles and realizing that they did not, in fact, possess tickets to the game, the brothers determined that their ruse had run its course. With a skill that only a true ninja could ever attain, they somehow melted into the jostling crowd, only to reunite in a remote section of the concourse that was hidden from view by a large concrete ramp. Beneath this ramp there lay a drain, the metal grating over the top of which Leonardo was able to wrench away without much effort. One by one, the four turtles disappeared into the bowels of the Stadium.

The game had begun by the time they reached the villain's lair. They knew this because apparently Morgoth had his subterranean fortress wired for cable TV. Even before they saw his ominous shape, the turtles could hear the sportscasters' voices and the familiar sound of the crowd, coming not from the Stadium above them but from speakers set up below.

Peering down through a large drainpipe, the ninja turtles had a perfect vantage point of the Dark Lord's habitat. The blinding, choking smoke was gone now, and they could see the vast frame of Morgoth, stretched out upon a throne of rock and slag. He wore a cloak of the deepest black, and armor of the same hue. Around his neck was the collar of iron that Raphael had seen. However, the most curious thing by far was the Boston Red Sox cap adorning his terrible head. It was far too small for him, and in its disproportionate size it had the overall effect of reducing the sinister being upon whose crown it rested to a picture of absurdity. Had their hearts not been weighed down by the loss of their sensei, the turtles might have laughed.

However, that would have been a mistake. It became apparent after no great length of time that Morgoth was indeed capable of lethal violence. In front of the wicked one stood a large-screen high-definition TV, and upon observing a home run hit over left center by Yankee legend Derek Jeter, the foul sinner picked up a huge metal hammer that lay at his right hand. Giving a horrendous cry, he flung the hammer with all his might against the wall of his domicile. The whole structure shook with the force of the blow, and before he knew what was happening, Michelangelo had fallen through the opening and down onto the floor.

_"You!" _Morgoth leapt to his feet at once, glaring at the prone turtle with fire in his eyes. _"You shall not escape my justice again, worm! Think better of yourself before you set to pestering the gods!"_ With that, he raised his booted heel above Michelangelo's head, preparing to stomp the ninja's skull into gory oblivion.

But he never got the chance. As the boot began to drop, three more ninja turtles vaulted themselves down onto Morgoth's back and dragged him to the floor in a heap of violence and flailing limbs. Shortly he managed to fling the turtles off his body, but he seemed disoriented, and was slow in getting to his feet. However, he still commanded a clear advantage of size, and as the heroes renewed their charge the towering devil was able to knock them away as if they were children.

Now he stalked across the chamber toward the great hammer. Grasping and hefting it in his hand, the villain turned back toward the four brothers and smiled cruelly. _"Prepare yourselves, for the time of your doom is nigh."_

With that said, he made for the turtles at a speed that he had not even hinted at before. The head of the hammer became a blur as it arced through the air, and Raphael, darting to one side, barely avoided the crashing blow. With a grunt, Morgoth heaved the weapon out of the crater it had made in the stone. He swung it again, and this time it was Leonardo who narrowly escaped obliteration.

And so it went on, for what seemed an impossible length of time. The turtles were utterly outstripped by the speed and strength of the Dark Lord. He seemed to be always one step ahead, and as the battle wore on, the brothers felt themselves nearing the point of total exhaustion. They could not, it seemed, keep this up any longer.

And then there came another explosion of sound, and all five combatants looked, in unison, toward its source. Framed by a rubble of scorched, blackened brick and blasted stone, they saw standing before them Gandalf, the white wizard, and the esteemed sensei, Master Splinter.

"_Sensei!"_

The exclamations of joy from the turtles were uncontrollable; the brothers were in tears as they rushed toward their seemingly resurrected master in a mass embrace. They were so overwhelmed by their emotions that they forgot the situation at hand, and temporarily put the threat of Morgoth out of their minds.

Fittingly enough, Morgoth also seemed to forget the battle in which he had just been engaged, and his deathly gaze rested on the wizard alone. _"So,"_ spake the dreadful voice, _"you have come."_

Gandalf stepped forward. "I have." And with that, he ceased conversing with the evil one and let his weapons do the talking. His sword flew forth in a blur of enchanted metal, and Morgoth was barely able to parry the blow with his hammer. Not a moment later Gandalf's staff fired a crackling surge of electricity into Morgoth's body, and the devil was thrown hard against the far wall. At this, the ninja turtles turned their attention from Splinter to the raging battle, and the students and their master were at Gandalf's side in an instant. Michelangelo gazed at the smoking staff in wide-eyed awe. "Dude, that was _bodacious!"_

The wizard did not look away from Morgoth, who seemingly was in a state of shock, and did not appear to be in any shape for a fight. "On your guard, young warrior," growled Gandalf to Michelangelo. The turtle swallowed and nodded. "Okely-dokely."

And then, before any of them realized it, the Dark Lord had jumped high over their heads in a great arc, and at the zenith he hurled the sledgehammer down upon them like a missile. Splinter knocked Gandalf out of the hammer's fatal path, and the two of them fell just inches from where the weapon drove itself into the ground.

Morgoth landed on the opposite side of the chamber and sprinted toward the six heroes. However, Leonardo had an idea, and he somersaulted forward into the enemy's charge. Just as he reached his foe, Leonardo came out of the somersault like a gunshot, in a dazzling feat of acrobatics and deadly skill. He executed a handspring finished with a vicious double-footed kick that connected with Morgoth's throat, snapping the Dark Lord's head backward and sending him to the floor.

Leonardo came down past the fallen fiend, and he turned back with his _katana_ blades drawn. The other fighters now rushed forth with their weapons bristling, and Raphael raised his dagger-sharp _sai, _ready to plunge it into the enemy's foul heart. As he did so, Morgoth quickly rolled to the side and leapt to his feet again, and he took up the cruel hammer and began to swing it above his head. With a hellish cry he let it go, and again the sledgehammer became a missile. Gandalf fired a blast of energy but missed the flying hammer, and Donatello dove out of its way. However, Michelangelo had been watching keenly as the devil's weapon whistled through the air, and he seemed to be almost in its path. His brothers screamed his name, but he paid them no mind, and instead he reached out toward the hurtling projectile...

Michelangelo's hands were slick with sweat and blood as his fingers closed around the handle of Morgoth's sledgehammer. Slowly, slowly, he could feel it slipping out of his grasp as his body struggled to harness the insane momentum of the hammer and swing it around the way it had come. The agony he felt as his muscles strained and his joints seemed to pull apart had the effect of prolonging each and every fraction of a second that passed, making the moments into minutes. The only sound he was conscious of hearing was that of his own heartbeat, deep, echoing, constant as he turned, yes, so slowly, but now a bit further, and now a bit further still. He was at the center of the circle, and the hammer was the radius, tracing its way counterclockwise as the centrifugal force threatened to tear the ninja's body asunder.

Finally, Morgoth came into Michelangelo's revolving view. The Dark Lord was looking at Gandalf; perhaps he was wary of the wizard's staff. The instant of release had to be perfect, and Michelangelo tried to clear his mind. He let his body tell him when to let the hammer go, and then he watched it soar straight and true at the devil's wretched face. The weapon connected with a ghastly noise, and Morgoth crumpled in a heap. After that, he did not move.

"Well done, lad!"

Gandalf smiled at Michelangelo as he stood over Morgoth's still form. The tip of the wizard's staff rested on the iron collar encircling the fallen behemoth's throat. The great wand glowed slightly now, with an orange-red hue that suggested searing fire, and this glow also extended around Morgoth's neck.

"Um, so, Gandalf," Donatello said, "is this guy, uh, toast?"

Gandalf did not answer at first. He seemed to be thinking of something to himself, and then to be making a decision. After a moment, he replied to Donatello. "No, he lives yet. Observe…"

Now the wizard focused his gaze on the enemy, and the orange-red of the sorcerer's flame took on a shade of blue. Morgoth's eyes snapped open, and all four turtles gasped and jumped backward. At this the evil one laughed.

Gandalf's voice was cold. "You have no cause for mirth, Abomination. You are defeated."

The villain laughed louder still. _"You lie through your teeth. I will outlast you, minion, and all these rabble, and you know it to be true."_

Fury blazed in Gandalf's eyes. "What I know goes far beyond the scope of your mind. Your perception is clouded and you cannot see the hopelessness of your own cause. I order you to be gone from these lands now and forever, and I vow by Manwë and Varda that I shall not close my eyes until I have seen you smitten by the hand of Eru! Do you submit to my word?"

Morgoth hissed, and Gandalf's staff hummed with power. _"Do you submit?"_ shouted the wizard. Finally, the foul one cowered and cried for mercy. Gandalf spat in his ruined face, and commanded, "Disappear then, Corrupter, and never return here." And then Morgoth was gone, iron collar and all, and the only token that remained was his Red Sox cap.

Part V

After Morgoth quailed under Gandalf's staff, and then seemingly vanished into the ether, the reunited company scoured the surrounding area for any remnants of evil that may have been lurking. Finding none, they returned to the ninjas' beloved home, and once there they set about consuming prodigious amounts of red wine. There were many tears and embraces as the turtles celebrated their teacher's return. However, despite trying valiantly as they did, the brothers could not convince either Splinter or Gandalf to divulge what had transpired within the abyss. Splinter would only say that "the wizard saved my life," while Gandalf merely winked and muttered something like "helps to be able to fly."

Still, there were moments of gravity. Gandalf informed the ninjas that Morgoth would indeed return to the Earth one day, though he knew not when. "But it is said," Gandalf went on, "that Morgoth will not suffer his final defeat until _Dagor Dagorath,_ the Battle of Battles, that will take place in Valinor when the world is unmade."

And at the mention of Valinor, Splinter turned his head, ever so slightly, toward the wizard. Meeting his gaze, Gandalf nodded. "Yes, I think it's time they knew."

Raphael put his bottle down. "Knew what?"

"My sons…" Splinter paused, weighing his words carefully. "It pains me greatly to speak this thing to you."

Leonardo was extremely concerned. "What's going on?"

"I have taught you many things, my children." The rat paused again. "I have taught you everything I know." Now Splinter looked down at his aged and bent body. "As a warrior, I am no longer what I was."

The turtles, of course, could see where this was going, but they were too dumbfounded to speak a word.

"There is a place, my sons." The master's eyes seemed to look past them, now, into some far-off realm that was hidden from the brothers. "A place in the West. A place of peace, where I might live out my days, free from the pain of this land." Again, he looked toward Gandalf. "I will go with the wizard. I will take the Straight Road, even unto Valinor."

Stunned, the turtles sat in silence, until Michelangelo pulled out a hanky and loudly blew his nose. At this, all of them broke down, and everyone had a good cry. This ended in another round of hugs and embracing, and more wine-drinking as well. Eventually, though, sleep claimed its due, and all the mortals in the room fell into a deep and well-earned slumber. Soon, their lives would change profoundly. For this last night, though, they were still a family under one roof, still together in the city they loved.

The End?

P.S. The Yankees won the ballgame


End file.
